


Too Orange of a Red

by RainingPrince



Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Dowling Era, Gen, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), No Sex, Snacks & Snack Food, The Bentley (Good Omens) - Freeform, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingPrince/pseuds/RainingPrince
Summary: Aziraphale rummages around in Crowley’s purse and finds something unexpected.~Dowling Era, Spring 2015
Series: Theoretically Canon-Compliant but largely unrelated Good Omens shorts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594831
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37
Collections: Work from the M25 Discord members





	Too Orange of a Red

“Crowley, do you think we could get something to eat soon?”

They purse their lips and huff quietly. “We’ve got at least another five minutes until we’re back to the bookshop and we can walk from there to that little Indian place down the street. Can you wait?”

“I suppose so,” the angel says, in a tone that very clearly conveys that he would much rather not. He likes to think he’s very careful with his usage of what outsiders may call his “puppy-dog eyes,” but in truth he is rather terrible at refraining from the use of the big guns. He pouts, just a little bit, slouches ever so slightly against the seat.

Not forty seconds later Crowley, who had been trying desperately not to look at him, finally releases a heavy, put-upon sigh. “I have some snacks in my purse, I keep them for Warlock.”

Aziraphale is delighted, sitting up straighter and beaming at the demon. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s just on the back seat, knock yourself out.” Crowley says, waving one hand in a vague gesture towards the back of the car. “Save some for the antichrist but you can have a couple of the snack bars.”

Aziraphale reaches back and grabs the purse, beginning to fumble around for said treats in a purse far bigger than the exterior suggests. The first four items he pulls out are in order: A rubber rat, two different lighters, and a handkerchief with a the initials “A.J.C” and a pair of tiny black wings embroidered in the corner. It had been a gift from himself, some few years ago. He smiles beatifically and puts it back.

The next item he pulls out is a tube of lipstick. Out of curiosity, he pops off the top to get a look at the color. It’s red. He glances at Crowley, still with his hair done up in perfect coifs and pencil skirt and red neck bow. They’re wearing lipstick, but it’s purple, not at all a match for the tube in Aziraphale’s hand.  He realizes that he’s never quite seen this shade on Crowley, Nanny or otherwise. It seems a little garrish; too orange of a red, doesn’t suit them. Idly, he swipes the lipstick over the skin of his own wrist, curious to see what it would look like. Nothing happens.

"Crowley, I think something is wrong with your lipstick."

“What?” Crowley asks as he makes a turn and slows down just a bit.

“Your lipstick, I think something is wrong with it.” He holds up the offending item.

Crowley glances over, and his eyes widen in surprise -and is that embarrassment? "Oh, no Angel, it's fine really, just-"

"Why would you be carrying fake lipstick? Seems a little superfluous to me."

The demon splutters and whirls the car into its usual parking spot in front of the bookshop. "Really Angel, it's not a big deal, I have my reasons and-"

"What sort of reasons?” He interrupts again. “Were you planning to swindle some poor human with a faulty product? Does it even twist?"

"Aziraphale, please-"

Aziraphale gives the little tube an experimental twist, and the thing starts vibrating. Both of them fall silent, the only sounds the Bentley's engine and the tiny little motor in the angel's hand.

After several long moments of awkward silence, the angel opens his mouth to utter a completely deadpan "Well."

Crowley groans and drops his forehead onto the steering wheel.

Wordlessly, Aziraphale turns off the bullet vibe and pops the cap back on. He drops it back into the bag and hands said bag back to Crowley. “Let’s go get some dinner, shall we?”

“Sure,” Crowley mumbles, taking the bag and then turning off the car. They open their door and get out, and are halfway down the block by the time Aziraphale manages to catch up.

Neither of them speak until after their food arrives, choosing not to pursue the matter from there.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pastelpenguin’s fault, they prompted the discussion that bore this bullshit.


End file.
